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At the beginning of August I happened to attend the fourth annual KCON convention in Los Angeles, a gathering that celebrates Korean popular culture, or all things "hallyu" (the Korean wave).
I was stunned by the large and diverse crowds, their devotion and enthusiasm, and the wide range of hallyu's appeal. And it got me thinking about how, and whether, one can explain all this from a historical perspective.
First, some intrepid reporting from the scene: There were numerous forums, screenings, performances and demonstrations throughout the day, as well as a variety of exhibits and commercial booths in the main hall.
K-pop appears to have been the biggest attraction. Some very famous Korean singers and groups showed up to talk about their work, answer questions, and take pictures, before performing for throngs of fans in the evening concerts.
Korean films and especially K-drama, still a centerpiece of hallyu, had their own legions of followers. One forum featured the writer of the most successful drama export of recent years, "The Man from the Stars" (Byeol eseo on geudae).
The organizers of this forum prepared 200 listening devices for simultaneous interpretation, but they quickly ran out. The crowd appeared to be perhaps triple that number, so many in the audience could not understand what was being said.
But this did not seem to matter, as the atmosphere was dynamic. Clearly, as with hallyu in general, the event's appeal transcended any language barrier.
In fact, "The Man from the Stars" was such a huge hit in China that even the New York Times recently published a story about it. This article included interesting observations, from commentators and even high Chinese government officials, about K-drama's success in China, or the "secret sauce" of Korean popular culture.
One explanation, among others, was that the Koreans and Chinese share the "same culture." This could refer to a common blend of Buddhism and Confucianism, among other things, but the nuance of these comments was that Koreans have become good at absorbing, practicing, and expressing Chinese culture.
It reminded me of the traditional perspective, in both China and Korea, that Korea was a miniaturized, and sometimes a better developed, version of China. Most Koreans today of course would beg to differ, but those in the pop culture industry probably don't mind this benign chauvinism, for it helps to sell the product.
In fact the last time Korean culture came close to this kind of prominence and influence outside the peninsula, it also happened in China. In the 14th century, after Korea during the Goryeo Kingdom came under the control of the Mongolian Yuan Dynasty in China, a colorful Korean "style" became all the rage in the Chinese capital city of Beijing.
This was driven mostly by the elegant and exotic presence of Korean concubines of Chinese elites. The most conspicuous and powerful of these Korean females was the emperor's own concubine, who eventually became his queen, Empress Gi (Gi Hwanghu).
This earlier form of the Korean wave arose from a unique set of circumstances, based on the cosmopolitan reach of the Mongol Empire, of which both China and Korea belonged. Not until the late 20th century did Korea, in the form of South Korea, again become integrated into such a critical mass of international connections, economically as well as culturally.
And this time, a mix of trade, advanced technology, and a powerful formula for mass entertainment has resulted in
South Korea becoming a prime exporter of popular culture around the world. These cultural forms were designed originally for the domestic South Korean audience, but something about them, besides relentless marketing, has tapped into the consciousness and sentiment of people elsewhere, especially in Asia.
But what is "Korean" about the Korean popular culture that is so popular outside Korea? The most successful exports, even with movies, appear to have little to do with the distinctiveness of Korean society or history. The storylines of the addictive dramas and the physicality of the sugary K-pop performances could come from other places as well, or so it seems. But this of course might be the point: Hallyu is built on universal appeal.
It's also been said that the dramas and music videos glamorize South Korea's urban and high-tech advances while remaining grounded in simple (and rarely explicit) expressions of romantic and family love. Thus, they showcase a non-Western mode of modernization, and this explains much of their success.
So in this sense, there is a definite Korean component to this formula, but one which relies on South Korea's most recent historical experience of rapid, dramatic change more than on its traditional culture or history. Through its television shows and films, in fact, Korean tradition and history are being constantly re-created, and then combined with new impulses to construct an adaptable, renewable identity.
This might also explain why, aside from entertainment, the items most heavily promoted at the KCON convention were skin care and cosmetic products, which unmistakably drew great interest in both the forums and booths.
For the same reason that international visitors flock to Seoul for plastic surgery, those drawn to South Korean popular culture or lifestyle seem to desire participation in an ongoing reinvention process, based on what Korea is always becoming as much as what it ever was.
Kyung Moon Hwang is associate professor in the Department of History, University of Southern California. He is the author of "A History of Korea ― An Episodic Narrative" (Palgrave Macmillan, 2010). The Korean translation was published as 황경문, "맥락으로 읽는 새로운 한국사" (21세기 북스, 2011).
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